Hermione Granger and the Surreal Numbers
by Kurai Ummei
Summary: A reoccurring dream is your subconscious trying to talk to you, or so her father had once said. Dumbledore shows her the lines in the earth. Her dreams show her the lines in the sky. Ward magic. Ley lines. Arithmancy. Hermione is surrounded by surreal numbers, and it all comes tumbling down. History repeats itself unless we stop it from doing so.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: Asperger's Syndrome is rather fascinating, and may account for some of Hermione's personality quirks in the books. I made a reference to her mother being diagnosed with it, and looking it up may help make sense of the connotations made if you aren't familiar with the condition. I know and love people who have it, and make no inference that it is a negative thing.

At 3:57am on a Thursday, Hermione Granger was awoken from a dream she couldn't quite remember, with the strange sense of surreality one gets when first wandering back from deep sleep. The clock continued its onward march, minutes leaking by as she fruitlessly attempted to become awake enough to realize that she should go back to sleep. She had class tomorrow. She had two quizzes and a paper due the day after. Unfortunately the girl never made it that far, yet neither did she fall back to sleep. 42 slippery minutes later, Hermione rolled out of her 4 poster bed and tossed on her outer robe over the toad-print pajamas she'd received from a half-joking Neville last Christmas. Perhaps if she'd been awake to care, the witch would have noticed and appreciated the ever moving stairs and hallways of Hogwarts leading her safely down to the kitchens, the vague idea of a midnight snack only half formed in her frazzled head.

The black ends of her school robes swished against the stone floor in the empty silence, luckily far from the night-prowling caretaker Filch, or the notoriously insomniac Potions Master. Fragments of dreams returned as the night wore on, her decent from Griffindor Tower a rather long one. Hermione's heavy brows furrowed as she managed to catch lingering memories of bright lines criss-crossing the ground beneath her as she flew from some unknown enemy. She pulled her robes tighter, mulling over the color and shape of those lines, wondering why in the world she had been flying in the first place. Wild tawny curls bounced as she slowly shook her head, denying the idea of flight even while dreaming in lieu of her aerophobia. Coming to the picture of the tickling pear, the muggle-born witch stared at it blankly for a moment. Encountering something requiring input en-route to the half promised idea of food threw her for a moment. Wincing at her own brain numbed stupor, Hermione opened the portal to the kitchens and wandered in. Even at this hour a few house elves were already up and working on the more involved tasks for breakfast, bread kneading and the like.

"Miss? You is up so early! Can Fook get anything for Miss? It's cold out today, yes, yes it is. Would Miss like some hot chocolate?", a chipper looking elf by the name of, apparently, Fook asked. Nothing could pull Hermione Granger out of her mental fog like the deep seated desire to be polite enough to house elves to make up for her perceived abuse of them by everyone else. Even then, it was like speaking through water and thinking through a storm cloud.

"Oh, um, yes please. Chocolate... chocolate sounds good.", was all she managed before Fook wandered off. There were tables off to the side, the magical matching set that transferred food to the ones in the Great Hall at meal time. However, at the moment Hermione simply stared at the ceiling, contemplating those writhing, glowing lines from her dream. Something about the colors, about the movement, was off. Was wrong. The little cracks and wrinkles in the stone work above her head mesmerized the brightest witch of her era, embarrassingly lost in thought she jumped and squeaked when Fook popped back in front of her making encouraging gestures and words toward the mildly excessive lay out of hot cocoa, cookies, and numerous other tempting finger foods. Her body found a seat, and her hands and mouth managed all on their own, autonomous of her distraction. More slivers of dream dislodged themselves as Hermione remembered a horde of faceless enemies in shredded cloaks, streaming behind her as she flew on through the night. She was chased, relentlessly, but they never seemed to catch up. Miles fell away below and the lines, bright wires that branched and forked out in all directions across the land below, went on and on, though oddly misty in some places. Sluggish and... sickly looking. Heavy curls bobbed again as Hermione nodded thoughtfully to herself. Invigorated by nourishment, she came to, enough to remember that the sun would be coming up soon, and that there were classes to get ready for. Looking about, Hermione spotted an elf whom she thought was Fook, and waved in thanks while attempting to politely smile before she left.

Stepping out of the kitchens, she made to return to her dorms, sticking a hand out and running ink stained fingers along the stone wall as she walked. The new vigor of a day's beginning and the recently eaten early breakfast faded away before she had even gotten up two flights of stairs. The soft swish of robes followed her down the wrong hall, missing the next set of stairs as the contemplation of dreams swept over her again. The sky, long thin, green lines strew across the heavens came back in a blip of half-faded imagery. An organized mockery of the chaotic winding lines upon the ground. Her feet skipped a step, but then kept wandering as an odd feeling of danger crept out of the dream memory. She shoved it away, trying to reason with herself while half asleep. This was so silly, walking the abandoned corridors of the castle in the pre-dawn, mind turning over and over the muted images from some oddly surreal dream. Hermione pushed the heels of her palms into her eyes and rubbed, trying to blur away the strangeness. This was just the fall out from her work load, she thought. Simply too much coursework in the wake of Voldemort's resurrection, a sad and strangled attempt at a cheerful and childishly spent summer, and upcoming midterms for the first semester. The muggle-born witch's friends would all attest to how much she enjoyed tests, while simultaneously bemoaning her terrifying study habits just before hand.

Suddenly, she paused. Those green trails in the sky were very organized, circular patterns and purposeful looking formations. Yes, she had seem some of those patterns before, but it still took a moment before it sank into place. Hermione had only seen part of the sky as she had fled from the faceless horde, the degrees in her view as she sped away. She suddenly realized the trails in the sky had unmistakably been graphings of arithmantic equations. A moment was spent considering what the graphs would mean when translated back into numbers, and solved for. Her head tilted a bit, as she bit her lip attempting to work it out in her mind. That broad hemisphere to the right had been a Fenrix Sphere, or at least part of one she was sure, and the forked curves to the left had been indicative of logic loops. Yes, the recursive numbers in that formation would lead to a spell archetype that would feed itself, and stay stable. A small smile found its way onto her lips as the mystery was solved, she had been studying for Professor Vector's Arithmancy quiz, and now the numbers were floating around her subconscious, along with fears and worries about the Death Eaters and their ilk. With a small sigh, she turned and swept back toward the stairs intent upon a few more hours of sleep.

–

The elegant hand's of Hermione's bedside clock ticked quietly away at near three in the morning. It didn't keep her from waking up, yet again disgruntled that she was now apparently as insomnia ridden as Professor Snape and that one boy from Hufflepuff who had racked up 214 detentions for being out wandering after curfew over the course of his Hogwarts career. She snorted as the door to her shared dorm clicked closed behind her, drifting along to the kitchens as had become her norm over the past 2 weeks. Lovely, maybe she could just forgo the rest of the school rules as well, perhaps see if she could catch up with the Hufflepuff's current record. Did the detentions she had served for standing by Harry, dealing with Malfoy, and attempting to keep Neville's cauldron from exploding in potions count? It still stung that her perfect record had been shattered and repeatedly stomped on as soon as she came to Hogwarts, after years of being a model student with no record.

Fook waved her inside the kitchens, lo and behold her midnight snack all laid out for her already. Tonight it was toast with different kinds of jam. She smiled at Fook sleepily, and sat down to munch on the delicious spread. Staring at the fissures and cracks in the familiar ceiling she was struck with the urge to lie flat while she ate. Perhaps it would be somewhat as restorative as actual sleep, and she was desperately in need of such. Even Ron, loveable but completely oblivious Ron, had noticed the dark circles under her eyes, and slow drift in her step lately. Making several pieces of bread up with different kinds of preserves, she flopped onto the bench and stared at the masonry above, lost in thought. Licking a bit of sweet plum jam from the corner of her mouth, unaware of the house elves bemusement at her eccentric behavior, the lines in the sky and earth from her dreams flowed around her mind. Hermione had only witnessed the dream twice more since that first night, but that was enough to make it a reoccurring dream in her opinion. Reoccurring dreams were your subconscious trying to tell you something, or so her father had once told her. A pang of homesickness washed over and away. Her mother and father had never been the best of parents, with a busy dentistry practice and her mum's Asperger's Syndrome, but they loved her and she missed their unique brand of humor and welcome. She sighed, and reached for another piece of toast.

Dawn found Hermione pleasantly full, finally sleepy, and wandering back to her dorm. She had recently figured out that the castle was somewhat sentient, as it had repeatedly directed her safely away from prying eyes to and from the kitchens during her night time forays. She adoringly stroked the rails as a stair case shifted beneath her, taking the witch back toward Griffindor Tower. The mutterings of Filch drifted up from two floors down, disgruntled that the obstinate stairs were slowing him down on his rounds. She smiled and traced the mortar between the stones of the wall with her finger tips as she trailed back to bed.

Midterms came and went, tests that no one but Hermione and a few Ravenclaws had taken seriously. The first Monday afterward she went to bed exhausted from helping Professor Sprout in the green houses for some unnecessary but desired extra credit. Tuesday was much the same, having stayed up till almost 2am reading a fascinating book on mediwizardry for the nervous system. When her eyes came open of their own accord early on Thursday morning, early enough by some to still be called Wednesday night, she moaned miserably, stumbling for her robes and a pair of slippers. The walk down, peaceful and quiet, was almost relaxing enough that she thought perhaps she could return to her bed and sleep away the rest of the night. That was until she walked past a second floor balcony and squeaked in surprise at the sight of the Headmaster appearing to be star gazing. Professor Dumbledore half turned to her, a single wispy eyebrow raised.

"Why, Miss Granger, what a lovely night it is, don't you agree?" She nodded after a moments pause as panic subsided, to be replaced by mild curiosity.

"Yes, in fact it is. I hadn't really noticed before now. Thank you for pointing it out.", she eventually replied, trying to decide between making for the kitchens, her dorm, or trying to figure out why he was here of all places. The twinkle in his bright blue eyes gave away his merriment despite the noncommental expression on his face. "What brings you to the second floor, Headmaster?"

"Well now, I propose a fair trade." He smiled.

"A... fair trade, sir?"

"Why yes, of course. I shall share my reasons with you, if you share yours with me, Miss Granger." The Headmaster nodded at her pleasantly, and gestured with welcoming at the empty balcony beside him. "Come out and stand with me for a bit, my dear. It really is lovely out tonight." Bemused, but interested in any words a man such as Albus Dumbledore had to share with her, she stepped out of the corridor and out beneath the stars. She caught herself looking up for a glance at the green trails that, of course, wouldn't be there in the waking world.

"Well, Professor, I suppose I had a bit of... a bit of the munchies really. Perhaps a little sleeplessness to go with it. I enjoy walking when I need to think, and there really isn't room to do so in the dormitories."

One wizened hand rose to cup his elbow, the other threading through his beard, he nodded in agreement.

"That there is not, you are quite correct. I find myself in much of a similar situation. I have a rather wonderful bathroom with a bathtub and many rubber ducks, as well as a nice warm sitting room attached to my quarters, but strangely no one thought to add a pacing room to the headmaster's office for when they were in need of a space to, say, consider their words for an upcoming meeting of the governor's board." He smiled distractedly down at Hermione, and she returned it with understanding.

"Why, that's rather silly. I can image most Headmasters, and even Deputy Headmasters and Heads of House, would been in great need of available pacing, contemplating, and wondering spaces. I'm mystified why the library doesn't have a conservatory attached for just such a thing."

"Why, that's a rather fetching idea, Miss Granger. I wonder if Pomona would consider adding one..." She blinked up at him.

"I do imagine it would be a bit hard to add a green house on the third floor though, Headmaster." He sighed in acknowledgment, nodding and turning to face the grounds outside.

"Yes, quite right, quite right. It would have been lovely though, shame." Hermione smiled up at her distracted, and apparently forgiving of her curfew breaking Headmaster.

"Have a good night sir," she said, turning to go. "sleep well."

"I was wondering one other thing, Miss Granger." She stopped and looked back at him, silhouetted against the Forbidden Forrest and the slowly lightening blue of the pre-dawn.

"Yes?"

"What is it you were thinking over that coerces you from your bed so many evenings?"

"I..." She stopped, a wry grin spreading on her lips. Of course, the Headmaster would know if a student went wandering about so much. "I had a dream, Professor, that there were... were vast, branching lines running throughout the ground, and... Arithmetic circles strewn across the sky."

"Oh?" He prompted her to continue, thought she found herself unsure of sharing more details. Of course, her inherent trust of Professor Dumbledore, and guilelessness bade her continue.

"Yes. Yes, I... well there was a faceless mob of.. well, Death Eaters I suppose. They chase me, and I am flying through the air. Though, not on a broom I suppose, just... flying. They never seem to catch up, but they do follow relentlessly. As far as I go, no matter how many miles, the glowing lines in the earth shift and branch, on and on." She shrugged a bit, a little embarrassed to share her dreams in their full surreality. "I think I am just a bit stressed about all the... well, you know."

"As are we all, Miss Granger. I am rather of the opinion that thinking it over, even in excess, is one of the more positive ways of handling stress." The Headmaster turned twinkling eyes upon her again, with an understanding smile. "I believe the lines you saw in the ground were ley lines, have you seen them when awake before?"

"Ley lines, sir?"

"Ley lines, my dear, are the flow of magical energy throughout the planet. A sort of circulatory system for ambient magical energy." Hermione returned to stand beside him on the balcony.

"Really, that's fascinating!" She replied, suddenly more awake at the chance at undiscovered knowledge. "Why haven't I heard of ley lines before? Is there a class about them?"

"Oh no, not really. They're really quite simple, you see? Come here for a moment, I shall show you." She leaned closer in rapt attention, as Professor Dumbledore drew his wand from inside his sleeve, and turned to her, casting a soft, "Vedemagus!" with a double swish of the wood. He repeated the spell upon himself, and pointed to the landscape before them. Hermione let out a wondrous gasp. The land before them filled with streaming lines, like the veins in a leaf, but continuing on in flowing rivers of color and light.

"Oh, oh my! It's just like my dream, Professor. What do the colors mean? The patterns? Where does it come from? Can it be used?" The Headmaster gave an amused chuckle at her sudden excitement.

"Ley lines are simply the grooves that ambient magic flow through, much the same as a stream winds down a mountain along the places of least resistance. Using ley lines is the key to good ward magic, Miss Granger. In fact, most of the Ministry of Magic building's wards, and Gringotts, are powered by a continuous trickle of magic from ley lines, to keep them going after the original caster has left."

"That makes a great deal of sense, really. It also explains why none of the simple wards we've learned in school seem to last long without renewal." She nodded in contemplation, mind sorting through facts and suppositions quickly. "What about Hogwarts, sir?"

"Ah, our dear castle is rather different my dear. Very special. Now, do you see the purples off by the lake, the red by the gates, and the blue tones by the Quidditch pitch?"

"Yes, I do. What do they mean?"

"The blue is protective magic, temporary and subtle, it cushions blows and discourages harm. Now the red lines by the gates indicate travel or movement magic, with which our gates have to give those who pass them a boost to their energy to walk and bit of sense of where to go. So, my dear, knowing all that what do you suppose the purple shades by the lake are?" Hermione stared and thought for a moment, but once it occurred to her, it was rather obvious. Yet no less interesting.

"Is it a combination of protective and travel magic for the first year's boats that come over the lake? I mean... there is a giant squid, and not to mention grindylows, in there."

"Exactly, Miss Granger! Well thought out. As you can also guess, all of these wards and spells need to be somewhat permanent. Students and guests will often be traveling the road from the gates up to the school, the first years make that inspiring boat ride across the lake each autumn, and the Quidditch pitch is practiced and played upon nearly daily." Hermione beamed up at him for the praise, and they slowly fell into a companionable silence. The sun began to rise, just over the edge of the forest. "Well now, look at that, I believe we have whittled away our time. As much as I enjoyed teaching a little something, perhaps it is time you return to your dorm, hmm? I should say, I shall have to set the cowbell on my nightstand to ring rather loudly in an hour or so to call me for breakfast."

"I'm sorry to have kept you awake, Headmaster..." She replied, restraining a grin at the idea of a cow bell alarm.

"Oh, don't worry about it at all. No, no, I would have been up regardless. Goodnight, Miss Granger." Hermione gave an awkward wave, and shuffled off for her rooms. Having already eaten only a few hours ago, and routinely practicing only minimal morning ablutions, she planned to sleep straight until half an hour before classes began for the day.

–


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: If you're wondering why I didn't include a waiver at the beginning of the first chapter, it's because it isn't really in the guidelines. By publishing anything on you've already attested to the fact that you don't own the source material. Sorry for any grammar or spelling errors. I'm not a real author, just pretending really. If this keeps up for a few more chapters, I shall try and find a beta. Also, I had totally reinterpreted ley lines for the sake of the story. If you are familiar with them at all, just toss the original lore out the window for the duration. Cheers.

–

Wild, frizzy hair went flying in the moonlight as Hermione woke with a start. She'd been having that reoccurring dream again, only now it was beginning to seem more like a nightmare then anything. She swiped the back of her hand across her sweat beaded forehead, and tried to slow the sharply fearful breaths coming out.

"Mmmyou oooookay over there?", came a sleepy inquiry from a few beds away.

"Y-yes, I'm fine. Go back to sleep Parvati."

"Oooookaaay," she returned, yawning and rolling over.

Brows furrowed, Hermione stepped away from her bed and began the familiar trek down to the kitchens. The wind had kicked up recently as autumn faded into winter, bringing with it a chill throughout the halls of the castle at all times of day. That didn't stop her from stepping out on the second floor balcony she'd begun to think of as her thinking spot. The crisp weather of the Scottish highlands was barely warded off by her thick winter robes, and poorly so by the thin slippers she wore. Mid terms had come and gone, and yet the surreal dreams she had attributed to stress load had only gotten stranger. Tonight, however, was the first time she had ever been fearful as she flew. That thought in mind, she considered the Quidditch pitch in the distance and the school brooms in the locker rooms. Brown eyes stared sightlessly outward as she wondered if her broom skills would be any better now. No, likely not, she eventually decided. She'd never been on a broom in the dreams, always flying under her own power.

"Miss?", inquired a house elf from beside her.

"Oh, hello. What brings you up here, Fook?", she asked.

"Miss was on her way to kitchens again, yes? Always with the walking, and the thinking, and the snacking on nights like tonight." Large ears wobbled as he nodded vigorously, setting a small tray of tea cakes and coffee down beside her. "Fook will iron his ear if Miss thinks Fook is being impertinent, but he thought Miss might like to eat where the ceiling is stars and sky rather then rocks, maybe? Maybe?"

Hermione quickly reassured him before his tone became anymore distressed, and set about making the balcony more accommodating with warming and disillusionment charms, changing her robes into a big picnic blanket to lounge upon. She turned to smile at Fook as she settled down to star gaze, nibbling on tea cake. His ears flapped happily before he disapperated with a small pop.

Several tea cakes and half a cup of coffee later the furrow between her brows had worked itself out as she came to a few conclusions about her dream earlier in the evening. Polaris shined brightly, the moon off hidden somewhere. Brown eyes watched it appreciatively as she determined that if her subconscious was still giving her dreams, and if they had gotten more shocking, then she must be missing something. Something her mind really thought she ought to be paying attention to. Before, the faceless and dark robed figures were far away, chasing her from a distance. Now they were closer, occasionally catching up enough to graze her ankles. The moment they did, her seemingly effortless dream flight ceased and she began to fall. As the trees and dirt below seems to rose to meet her, she had a clear sense that she didn't watch to touch them. The ley lines spilled out sickly green like the lines in the sky, the closer she got. The wind of gravity undenied tore at clothing, hair, and skin; feeling as it if were ripping everything from her. She sat up and drained the rest of her coffee, shaking away the creeping fear.

"Vedemagus.", she cast upon herself, as Professor Dumbledore had done the other night. The wandwork came easily, and the glowing, writhing rivers of the ley lines spilled away below. She sighed at the light show, tired yet strangely awake even at this early hour.

"So, if the lines along the ground are ley lines, what were the trails in the sky for?", she mused aloud, turning her gaze up. A smile pulled at the corner of her mouth as she considered asking Luna Lovegood about it. Something strange from a dream that no one else had seen, something none of the many books she had searched through had any information about. It sounded right up Luna's alley, for sure, but she reluctantly dismissed the idea. The dreamy-eye Ravenclaw really was an expert on mythical creatures, not Arithmetic designs. Hermione narrowed her eyes in consideration. "Well then, if not Luna, then who would have expertise on... Oh! Of course," she muttered to herself, "why didn't I think of this before? I should should ask Professor Vector." Her expression lightened at the idea of asking her Arithmancy teacher about the designs. She could simply transcribe a few onto paper, and ask about them after class. Leaving the tea tray tucked into a corner of the balcony, she dismissed the various comfort and privacy spells cast earlier, and made for her waiting bed.

–

"Excuse me, Professor Vector? Do you have a moment?" Hermione shoved her copy of _Numerology and Grammatica _into her back, and approached the teacher's desk.

"I suppose so, Miss Granger. What can I do for you?" The stern arithmancy professor settled her hands in her lap and gave her top student an inquiring look. Septima Vector was rather accustomed to the muggle-born witch approaching her to clarify a point on an essay or homework assignment at least twice a week.

"Well, it's rather strange, you see...", she trailed off. Pulling the parchment roll of dream patterns from her bag, Hermione attempted to figure out an eloquent way to say she had seen something in a dream and needed help figuring it out. It was rather ridiculous sounding out loud, she mused.

"Yes?" Spreading the parchment out on the desk top, Hermione cast a light sticking charm to flatten it out, and gestured to the bits and pieces of arithmantic graph work strewn about it's surface.

"I seem to have arithmancy stuck on my mind, Professor. I've been dreaming about it, in fact. I'm trying to decipher some of these to see what they solve for, but I don't have the source equations, nor do I recognize most of them." She shrugged and looked up at the scarlet clad arithmancer, hoping for a clue.

"Let's see here...", trailed off Professor Vector as she skimmed the parchment. "It seems you must have a lot on your mind. Most of these are fragmented, and the subject seems to jump from topic to topic if the irregular curving is anything to go by. Have you considered picking out the most complete of the lot, and backtracking with a few different sets of number charts, to see if any of them match up?"

"I hadn't, Professor." Hermione bit her lower lip, thinking. "...but where could I get a set of premade number charts to compare to? The library?"

"Not quite." Septima's black curls and scarlet brimmed hat bobbed once in time with the stiff shake of her head. "You'll want to look up the recharting methods used by arithmancers for redefining graphs found at ruins and ancient ritual sites. Archeologist teams uncover old murals and arithmantic based art in Egypt and South America fairly regularly, so you may start your search for literature there. Unfortunately, once you have a gist of the methods, you will have to make the comparison charts yourself and adjust until the numbers begin to match." Hermione stared at her in mild horror. It seemed as if the numbers themselves were betraying her by being involved in such a hit-and-miss practice, no better then divination.

"I-I see. Thank you,", she recovered, blinking several times and returning the parchment to her shoulder bag. "very much. That is... a place to start." Professor Vector gave a rare smile at the shocked look on her student's face.

"Bit of an undertaking, isn't it? Might I advise finding an unused class room, and charming the walls into chalk boards? You might find it easier to have a great deal of work space, and somewhere to mentally leave the numbers behind when other activities call your attention.", she added, with a knowing look in her eyes.

"Yes, yes of course. That's an excellent idea, Professor. Thank you again." Hermione waved farewell as she made her way out of the class room and down the stairs of the Turris Magnus tower. It was time to hit the library, and hunt for just the right books. Her shoulders straightened and her head came up in excitement at the prospect.


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: Good grief, my grammar is horrible. Not to mention, I really need to add some scenes that include more of the everyday Hermione to counter balance her bleary and quiet zero o'clock self. Heck, I don't even know where Harry and Ron are... Yeah, this is going to have to get spelling-grammar-plot beta'ed with a sharp stick. Eventually.

–

It was the first time she hadn't been flying from a faceless horde of death eaters. Hermione looked about, strangely aware of the tiniest detail in the orange twilight of the dream. She was standing by the lake, looking at her reflection in the water's edge. The vaguely malignant glow of the green swirls in the sky behind her. She glared at the image as if it was personally responsible for her lost sleep. The last thing she remembered was sitting up in the common room, studying. Harry was sitting across from her working on some sort of Charm's essay, and Ron was having an exploding snap tournament with Dean and Luna. She concluded that she must have dozed off mid-homework from sheer exhaustion. Feeling petulant, she resisted stomping a foot into the lake's gravelly bank, and headed for the nearest entrance. Hermione didn't get 3 steps before halting in surprise, a misty figure watching her from a large, 2nd floor window. She narrowed her eyes.

"What in the world..." she spoke, as the figure waved and turned from the window. For lack of anything else that grabbed her attention, she made for a wall of nearby arcading and the small doorway beyond. It was a matter of several minutes to make it from the lakeside to the 2nd floor, but as she crested the second set of eerily unmoving stairs, the figure was still standing nearby the oriel windows.

"Hello? Excuse me, who are you?" The gray mist was noticeably person-shaped, and it waved to her again, an arm like section of translucent fog beckoned her forward as it returned to walking away.

"Where are you going? Better yet, why am I here?" she tried. The figure just swayed, as if a strong breeze had just blown by, and kept moving. Frustrated further, Hermione followed as it wandered slowly down the hall, wand out. She glanced down at it as minutes dragged on, wondering if magic worked in dreams. Surreptitiously, she weakly cast a non-verbal _Aguamenti_ and was relieved to see a small stream spout from her wand-tip and spatter to the floor. A polite _Evanesco_, and she continued on, mildly entertained with the idea of cleaning up after one's self inside a dream. Perhaps Mrs Weasley dreamed such things. Of course, the moment of amusement was broken immediately as the mysterious figure vanished straight into a wall.

"Oh for heaven's sake, what are you? Peeves?" Alas, the wall didn't reply. A small slew of revealing spells later, with no result, and Hermione was just about ready to give it up as a bad job and head to the kitchens in hopes that dream house elves would have dream tea and biscuits for her. On second though, she added, the kitchens of her subconscious were likely staffed by charmed cookware and free elves. Before that flight of fancy took her, the misty came back through, darker shades of gray shifting through it as if it was annoyed with her for not figuring out how to get though. Uncowed, Hermione crossed her arms and stared at it.

"Well? It's a solid wall, and I am not a ghost as you seem to be. You obviously want me to keep following you, but I don't see quite how." It's head tilted and it paused, as if it was thinking. She waited as it considered her words, wishing it had a proper mouth with which to communicate, but she supposed it was a great deal better then the disturbing facelessness of the only other living beings she had seen thus far. After a moment, it went back down the corridor and gestured her to a different hallway, behind a tapestry of dancing satyrs, and along an allure walkway. The allure wrapped around the outside of the castle, leading to an innocuous wooden door which opened back inside. A dusty, narrow corridor on the other side, which Hermione was half convinced was a house elf passageway from the annoying low ceiling it purported, lead up and down several sets of stairs. The figure stopped suddenly.

"Oh finally! What's this then? I would really like to wake up, so I can go back to sleep, you know. Actual sleep." She gave the person-shape a pointed look, but it simply waited for her to come closer, and then with purposeful slowness reached out to touch an odd, intricately engraved stone along the wall. Hermione jumped back, startled, as the bricks pealed away, folding in on themselves. She was just about to start communicating her displeasure at the situation when she noticed the room that had been revealed. Eyes wide, she stepped forward. Before her lay four massive stone chairs, thrones really, facing a stone dais in the middle of it all. The stone work along the thrones was intricate and themed. Each one had clearly been hand crafted with care. Series of runes, inscriptions, and detailed scenes had been carved in their every surface, along the floor, and around the dais as well. Hermione let out a soft breath, slowly.

"This is... what is this?" she asked her guide, admiring the almost alive looking griffons on what must certainly have been a seat meant for Godric Griffindor himself. The room was chromatic, the shreds of rotten wall hangings giving only the faintest coloring hint of the four houses the arrangement represented. She turned to the figure, hoping for some sort of explanation. It flowed past her, coming to stop on the raised platform in the middle, once again beckoning her.

"Seriously, I would like some answers... whoever you are. Where are we, and most importantly why are we here? I've certainly never even heard of this place. Also, why is this dream different from all the others?" She watched as the mist swirled, the figure shaking it's head in some sort of negative. It continued to beckon, trying to get her to come forward. Grumbling about time wasting, surreal dreams stealing her valuable study time she joined the figure on the dais. It's form sparkled, pin pricks of light shining through the fog, as it stepped away from her. Almost wishing for a can of alphabet soup, of all things, or even a ouija board in hopes of communicating, she waited as it stepped away. For a moment, nothing happened,. Without warning a feeling of intense magic built up the room. Similar to the feeling of the air before a thunderstorm, but so much stronger. Her hair started to rise, static energy wreaking havoc on her unbound curls.

"What's going on!?" Hermione shouted in alarm. The mist-being sparkled again, brightly, joyously, and then... she woke up.


End file.
